


Bad Touch

by alternatedoom



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Consent Issues, Dubious Consent, Father/Son Incest, Kink Meme, M/M, Snikt Snikt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-01
Updated: 2009-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-21 00:11:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12445047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alternatedoom/pseuds/alternatedoom
Summary: Logan doesn't want to be here.





	Bad Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Marvel Kink Meme [here](https://marvel-kink.livejournal.com/3214.html?thread=1324686#t1324686). Prompt was: _Logan/Daken dubcon, fighting gives way to fucking. Logan tops but isn't sure he wants to be doing it at all._
> 
> Incidentally, this was in fact my own prompt.

They'd been fighting for what felt like hours. Orange and black, their Wolverine uniforms were all but destroyed, and they were both tiring when Logan stumbled, with two dark claws twisting in his gut, and fell forward onto Daken.

Daken wasn't using the Muramasa claws, though. When Logan had pressed the Tinkerer for information, he'd been told Daken was warned to use them for the killing blow, as shrapnel if they were chipped would be catastrophic. Told him to be close and sure, the old man had said. Now was the time, he was weary and Daken had a shot, but those claws weren't out.

Daken wrenched and squirmed under him, snarling, and then they were rolling over and over on the ground, both with their claws out, grappling for control. Not even to kill, now, but simply for dominance, to determine who would come out on top. In a lucky break, Logan got ahold of Daken's arms, gripping far enough down to avoid potentially being impaled by the claws from the base of his wrists, and hung on. Daken's teeth snapped at his throat.

To his great shame, Logan was hard. It wasn't the first time he'd become aroused this way, but it was the first occasion Daken had been in a position where it'd be impossible for him not to notice. Logan awaited Daken's reaction with dread, though he was sure that during previous fights, even if he hadn't felt the hard warmth of Logan's physical arousal, Daken would have picked up the smell of it. Daken didn't miss much.

Daken's scent, as always, was suppressed. Logan deemed that a useful gift. For one thing, it never failed to throw him off his game. He was wrestling his son, fighting him, and Daken didn't smell like anything at all, not even the sweat and the blood he was covered in. Logan didn't know why that aroused him so. Perhaps it was the mystery. It was a strange and animalistic thing to admit, even to himself, but on a deep, primal level he wanted desperately to know what his son smelled like. With no scent, it was like Daken was more naked than other people, and yet at the same time more covered, more secret. Logan wished he knew how the scent suppression worked.

Then Logan felt Daken's length against his hip, and Logan startled. 

Because Daken was hard too.

His son was smirking at him. Daken yanked one hand loose and clawed through the remains of their pants with one quick, imprecise jerk of his wrist, slashing Logan's thigh in the process. As he was bringing his hand back up, Logan saw as if in slow motion the Muramasa claw retracting into the base of the wrist. It meant the pain in his thigh wasn't going to ease anytime soon. But Logan didn't have time to care, or time to hope it was just a superficial scratch. The fabric separating their bodies was all but gone, and Daken's cock was pressing and bobbing against his, flesh to flesh.

Daken rose up, smiling thinly, and Logan realized what he meant to do as Daken seized his cock at the base, squeezing.

"No," Logan had time to say, horrified, and then Daken came down hard. Pain flared quickly through his cock as Daken forced that tight channel down on him.

NO...

Logan groaned because it hurt, but it wasn't until Daken bared his teeth and hissed that he realized of course the penetration would be far more agonizing to Daken than to him. And it was so wrong, his whole body trembled with the wrongness of it, but he didn't fight it.

To his eternal shame, Logan wanted it.

"Daken, no," he tried to say, but the words came out more as groans. Because he wanted this. God, he wanted this. Daken's teeth were clenched, his beautiful face twisted into a grimacing rictus, but he was riding his father almost triumphantly, like he was winning.

Logan reeled from the wrongness and the tight sensation, and instead of seizing the opportunity to take Daken by surprise and push him off, he lay prone on the ground like a man stunned. The movement was starting to come easier, and even though he couldn't smell the blood, he knew it was because he was tearing Daken apart inside. The thought made him sick.

But Daken didn't seem to mind. His gritted teeth gradually gave way to a slow, mocking smile, and the long-simmering rage from their fighting resurfaced in Logan.

God, his son was such a sick fuck...

Logan growled and rolled them over once more. He slammed his son down, covering Daken's body with his, roughly forcing Daken's legs open and backwards. Daken let out a short, strangled cry that was not quite a scream, and Logan realized he'd done it too hard, shoved Daken's legs too wide apart. Logan knew his own strength, was so careful with his lovers and his teammates, but with Daken he had to pull out all the stops every time they fought, and he'd forgotten that with the adamantium he by far outweighed his son.

Regret stabbed at him, but it didn't stop him from thrusting his hips and pushing back inside.

Stupid kid.

Daken didn't fight to get back on top, but he hadn't become docile either. When he struck upwards at his father with the claws of both hands, Logan grabbed his forearms again and smashed his elbows down into the earth. Only when he heard a sharp crack and Daken swore in Japanese did Logan realize there was a rock underneath one.

Logan forced himself in again and again. He battered his son's insides until Daken shook under him and screamed, and Logan felt the wash of his warm come splattering against his stomach. He hadn't so much as touched Daken's cock 

_good thing, because that would be child molestation_

but there it was, Daken was done. All he knew was that he wanted to come more than he ever had in his life. He switched to shorter, quicker movements, grinding into the body beneath him. Another dozen thrusts and Logan pushed in hard one last time, shouting in despair as much as passion as he came.

Suddenly it was like the world was still and silent, but for his panting and Daken's short little breaths; he was lying on top of his son-- _he'd just fucked his son._

Their claws were still out, and his hands were still pressed to Daken's arms. Daken's knees were back by his head; for all his muscles, his kid was incredibly flexible. Daken was taking most of his weight, and underneath Logan his breathing was harsh and labored. Logan realized again that he was too heavy for Daken.

The guilty awareness shattered the spell. Logan jerked off and crawled hastily, clumsily a few yards away, stumbling even on his hands and knees. He felt like he was going to retch. He lurched forward and coughed, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and finally scrambled to his feet.

Daken leered up at him from the ground, drawing himself slowly into a sitting position as his breath came easier. Logan glimpsed the shadow of grass stains on his son's back. The grass all around them had been temporarily crushed flat from all their rolling around, and their fucking.

Their fucking. God, how could he have... ?

He'd never taken anyone so violently. Not ever. He wasn't like Victor. He wasn't--

Logan backed away a couple steps, involuntarily, and looked down at himself. His leg was covered with blood from his thigh, whatever, but his cock was smeared in almost as much blood, and he'd crossed a line. How could he ever, ever get Daken back after crossing that ultimate line. He coughed again, choking a little, and wondered if he really would be sick there on the grass.

Daken just sat there looking at him, not bothering to wipe away the sweat or the come or the blood, and Logan had a sense that it was Daken's way of staking his victory. His leer faded into a smug expression, watching Logan from under those heavy eyelashes like the cat who'd had the cream. He'd shoved Logan across that line, but once past the border Logan had gone far and freely. And he was the one who needed to keep it together, stay in control, draw the lines. He was the parent.

Logan could tell his son wasn't sorry. _But why would he be?_ he thought bitterly. His son didn't know the meaning of regret.

"I..." Logan swallowed, then tried again. "I didn't want this," Logan got out, voice low.

Daken raised his eyebrows in mocking doubt. "Oh, didn't you?" he inquired politely. "My mistake."

Logan stared at him grimly.

"But you got it," Daken observed coolly, smiling almost serenely, and his bright blue eyes looked calm for the first time that night. And took it readily, his tone seemed to imply.

Logan's mouth was dry. Yes, he'd taken it. Eagerly, for all that he knew it was wrong, the most wrong thing he could possibly want in this life.

Yes, Daken had wanted it too. But he knew instinctively that Daken had only wanted it to torture him. 

Because Daken knew that between the guilt and the shame, Logan would be eaten alive.

Daken's lips curled into a sly smile, and his tone lightened as he asked sweetly, "Was it good for you, Daddy?"

Logan turned and fled away into the night.


End file.
